


When Their Hearts Are Breaking

by blewoutthestars



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Protective Bruce, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blewoutthestars/pseuds/blewoutthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark doesn't cry. Not ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Idek, this is slightly out of canon I suppose but mostly compliant with Avengers/Iron Man 3.
> 
> A bit inspired by Sia, "Big Girls Cry".

Tony Stark doesn’t cry.

The last time he cried was when he was eleven years old and he’d fallen down a flight of stairs, badly twisting his ankle and covering his body in bruises. His father had picked him up, placed him carefully on the couch and told him that big boys don’t cry. Tony had sniffed, swallowed his tears and put on a brave face as his mother smeared ointment onto the worst of his scrapes. His father looked proud.

He hadn’t shed a tear since that day. Not after falls and scrapes. Not when he buried his parents. Not on any of the occasions he smashed so hard into concrete or stone that his vision blurred. Not when he woke from a nightmare, sweat-drenched and tangled in sheets.

Not when Pepper left last night.

There was no big argument. Perhaps that was the worst part. No big fight to blame, no single stupid mistake. Nothing that could be easily fixed. She had smiled sadly at him, sat him down and told him that she couldn’t stay. Her bags were already packed and waiting for her. She cradled his face gently with one hand and squeezed his forearm with the other; then she quietly got up and left.

Tony didn’t say a word. He didn’t cry.

He took a bottle of scotch from the bar and went to the lab, but he couldn’t concentrate on codes and algorithms. Three glasses of scotch later and his concentration hadn’t improved, but he refused to think of anything else, especially not Pepper. Not now.

It took half the bottle for Tony to pass out, slumped inelegantly over the desk, one hand still loosely curled around the glass. His fogged brain dreamed in red and black.

Sometime later – he had no idea how many hours had passed – he woke up with a start. The whiskey glass skittered out of his hand and over the edge of the desk, smashing into a thousand expensive pieces of crystal on the lab floor. His back ached from sleeping bent over and he couldn’t seem to stop the world from spinning. Rubbing his eyes didn’t seem to help much. What the hell was he even doing down here? He couldn’t remember how much he had drunk, couldn’t remember much of anything at all. Stretching gingerly he felt a rising nausea. He tried to stand but the floor seemed to move and roll with each step. He stumbled towards the wall and slid down it onto the floor. As much as he hated to admit it, he might need some help to get back to his bedroom. One thing was for sure: he wouldn’t live this down.

‘JARVIS,’ he croaked, mouth parched and tasting of old alcohol, ‘Get Pepper down here, okay?’

There was a pause before JARVIS’s reply, then, eventually, ‘Sir, Ms Potts is not here.’

Tony tried rubbing his eyes again, ‘What? Where is she?’

‘If you remember sir, Ms Potts left last night.’

The memory of the previous night rushed back to Tony like the hard, cold shock of belly-flopping into the sea from a great height. Bile rose in his throat and he heaved, vomiting stomach acid onto the floor. A great, gaping hole seemed to have ripped open in his torso, and his ears were filled with a hoarse howling noise. It took a moment for Tony to realise the sound was coming from him.

‘Sir?’

‘Shut up JARVIS. Go away. Shut down,’ Tony croaked.

‘Yes, sir.’

Tony rested his forehead against his knees, running his hands through his hair. The aching hole that seemed to have replaced his internal organs wasn’t getting any better, and now a shooting pain was beginning to throb in his temples. He took deep, steadying breaths but the headache only grew worse. Tony’s eyes began to sting and he fought to hold back the tears, _big boys don’t cry_ , but the effort was too much. There was no one there to see. Tony relinquished the last of his control and dissolved into painful, hiccupping sobs that rocked his whole body. 

*

It was not the sight Bruce had been expecting when he walked into the lab, his friend curled into a sobbing, shaking ball against the wall. The room smelled of engine oil, expensive scotch and vomit.

‘Tony?’

Tony started at the sound of his own name, looking up blearily at Bruce with red eyes, just for a moment. Then he turned away, wiping his face with his hands, not meeting Bruce’s gaze.

‘What’s going on?’ Bruce walked towards him slowly, the way you might approach a wounded wild animal. Tony still wouldn’t look at him; was still trying to suppress sobs that showed in little jerky movements of his shoulders. Carefully, Bruce sat down beside him and stretched his legs out. His eyes swept the room, taking in the broken glass and half-empty bottle of scotch. ‘Are you hurt?’

Tony shook his head.

‘What’s wrong?’

Tony took a shaky breath, ‘Pepper.’

‘Pepper? Is she ok?’

‘Left. Gone.’

Bruce’s forehead creased in a frown, ‘What do you mean, Tony?’

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his head back against the wall, ‘Gone. Somewhere I’m not. Anywhere I’m not.’ His voice shook.

Bruce was at a loss. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. ‘I’m not sure I understand, Tony. Did something happen? Why did she leave?’

Tony gave a jerky shrug, dropping his head again and running his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time before finally, finally meeting Bruce’s eyes. ‘Because she doesn’t love me anymore. That’s why she left.’

“God… Tony. I’m… I’m sorry…’

‘Can’t blame her,’ Tony looked away again, ‘Can you? Got to live with this.’ He gestured around at nothing in particular, but Bruce knew exactly what he meant. ‘I never deserved her anyway. Not good enough.’

Bruce had no idea what he should say or do in response, so he did the only thing he could think of: he reached out and took Tony’s hand. Tony looked surprised, but he didn’t pull away. Tony’s hand was warm, and damp with tears and sweat. Bruce idly stroked it with his thumb, feeling the calluses gained from years of work.

‘Don’t talk that way. You can’t believe that.’

‘I can.’

‘No, you can’t. You’re hungover and hurting. And I don’t think sitting on the floor is helping at all.’

Bruce helped Tony to his feet with little resistance, and helped him across the room and into the elevator. Once they were in Tony’s apartment he half-supported his friend over to the couch and sat him down. ‘I’m going to get you some water. You look like you need it.’

He left to get a glass of iced water from the kitchen, and when he came back Tony was sitting in exactly the same position Bruce had left him in. He took the proffered glass and drank deeply. Bruce sat beside him, his eyes never leaving his friend’s face.

‘What are you even doing here?’ Tony finally asked, putting the empty glass down on the coffee table and perching stiffly on the edge of his seat.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, ‘Well, when you called me three days ago and asked me to come and help you with a project I assumed that was an invitation to, you know, come here.’

‘Oh,’ Tony grimaced, ‘Yeah. Sorry. Forgot.’

‘It’s ok.’ Bruce leaned back, making himself comfortable. ‘So. Pepper.’

Tony groaned, ‘Don’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because…’ Tony’s hands clenched and unclenched and he let out an angry, frustrated noise somewhere between a snarl and a moan. ‘Because you’re not supposed to see. Because no one’s supposed to see this.’ A tear spilled down his cheek as if to spite him and he angrily scrubbed it away.

Bruce was calm and still. ‘Well, it’s a bit late for that,’ he said evenly. ‘So you might as well tell me.’

It took several false-starts and two more glasses of water, but Tony told him. How he’d come home to find Pepper waiting for him. How she’d explained that she was leaving. How goddamn kind she was about it. How she’d walked out of the door and how there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to replace the parts of Tony she took with her.

By the end of it, Tony was forcing the words out between the tears. Bruce listened quietly, not interrupting, letting him speak. At the end he still said nothing as Tony just sat there, awkwardly crying the way a person does when every fibre of them wants to hide their tears but there are too many to hold back. Instead, Bruce quietly pulled Tony to him, holding him firmly against his chest. Slowly, Tony began to relax into Bruce’s arms, and as he did the tears came more freely. Bruce’s shirt was growing damp but he barely noticed.

Eventually the sobs faded and Tony drifted into sleep. Bruce shifted slightly but didn’t try to get up, instead rubbing his friend’s back soothingly. Tony might not realise it yet, but he would survive this. They were both pretty good at surviving against the odds.

Bruce bent awkwardly to press a small, gentle kiss to the sleeping Tony’s temple, hoped that Tony wouldn’t remember that when he woke up, and settled back into the cushions to doze.


	2. Lonely At The Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nearest to this that Bruce has seen Tony before were those days when he would be staying with Tony and Pepper in the tower and, before she left for work, Pepper would quietly pull him aside over breakfast and ask him to keep an extra close eye on Tony. Make sure he ate, make sure he took a break, make sure he didn’t go completely batshit-crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really mean there to be more chapters to this but then this just... sort of... happened. There will be at least one more!

Bruce allowed himself to doze but not sleep. He wanted to enjoy the quiet of Avengers Tower, for once blissfully empty of everyone but themselves, and the warm weight of Tony, who had begun to snore gently against his chest. Of course, he also wanted to make sure that Tony didn’t choke on his own vomit – a scenario that Bruce sadly calculated had a decent probability, given how much his friend had clearly drunk the night before.

Tony was rarely a ‘still’ sort of person and Bruce had expected him to wiggle away fairly quickly, but he seemed out for the count and more than happy using Bruce as a pillow. Sleepily, Bruce ran his hand repetitively through Tony’s hair, stroking gently down his neck. He caught himself thinking that the skin just behind Tony’s ear was softer than anyone who called himself Iron Man had any right to be. He traced his fingers gently around the outline of his ear, caressing his earlobe with the very softest of touches. It was rare that Tony sat still for a long enough period of time for Bruce to really appreciate his finer details, and just lately Bruce had found himself appreciating those details more and more often.

He shifted in his seat. Tony had him pinned in a position which was starting to make his back ache and he couldn’t ignore it for very much longer, however much he might want to. Very, very slowly, he eased himself out from underneath Tony – easier said than done, _boy_ he was heavier than he looked – and propped the sleeping engineer up with a big squashy cushion in one deft move that Indiana Jones would have been proud of. Bruce stretched his back, pushing his hands up towards the ceiling, and felt several of his vertebrae click satisfyingly back into place.

Sore back eased, he took a moment to really, properly _look_ at Tony. He looked pale. There were dark circles under his eyes that Bruce hasn’t seen before, not even after days with scarcely any sleep while they’d been working on new project or theory. He supposed that during those times Tony was like a dynamo; his own enthusiasm and excitement _created_ energy to the point where even Bruce can work for far longer than he would ever by himself, and though afterwards they might both crash out completely for hours it’s nothing like _this_.

The nearest to this that Bruce has seen Tony before were those days when he would be staying with Tony and Pepper in the tower and, before she left for work, Pepper would quietly pull him aside over breakfast and ask him to keep an extra close eye on Tony. Make sure he ate, make sure he took a break, make sure he didn’t go completely batshit-crazy. She never said why she asked but Bruce always knew. Just once, on one of those rare occasions that he and Pepper were left alone in the tower for the evening, they had sat up into the small hours drinking wine and at some point Pepper had told him about the nightmares she would so often have to talk Tony out of. Her eyes had been shiny with tears as she described how helpless she always felt.

Oh god, Pepper.

And so Bruce always knew, on those days when Pepper asked him to look after Tony, exactly why Tony looked a little grey; a little more fidgety; a little less composed, but he never let on. Just kept the coffee flowing and when Pepper was caught in a late meeting, which was often, made dinner and forced Tony to eat it.

He understood why Pepper had left, and he held no animosity towards her for it. If she didn’t love Tony anymore then it would be terribly unfair, for both of them, for her to keep pretending that she did. She was a clever and fantastically talented woman who deserved love as much as anybody did. And Tony… well, Tony needed someone who really knew, really _understood_ what he was going through. Pepper, try as she might, just wouldn’t ever be able to do that.

As much as he wished he didn’t, Bruce understood.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. The digital display of the clock told him that it was barely eleven o’clock in the morning but he already felt as though he’d run a marathon. Maybe he should go and do some work while Tony slept? But he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave Tony all alone; he couldn’t bear the thought of Tony waking up and thinking Bruce had left.

There were plenty of times that Bruce had watched Tony sleep before – not that Tony knew, of course – when he’d crashed on the old lab couch after a long day’s work, but Bruce didn’t ever recall Tony looking so small before. He wasn’t sure if it was how much bigger the couch up here was or the new-found protectiveness he felt, but right now Tony looked so little and helpless and Bruce just couldn’t stand by. The way he clutched at the pillow – did he still think it was Bruce? – wasn’t helping.

‘Jarvis, does Tony have any blankets?’ Bruce asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to disturb Tony. ‘… fluffy ones?’

‘There are blankets in the linen closet, Dr Banner. Would you like me to warm them?’

‘Yes, Jarvis, thanks.’ Not particularly wanting to leave Tony alone even for a few moments, but also really wanting to see Tony cuddled up with a soft blanket because no matter what the circumstances that would just be cute, Bruce left the lounge and headed down the corridor.

‘The other way, Dr Banner.’

Bruce turned on his heel and headed back up the corridor. He spent a considerable amount of time here, but each time he visited he could swear rooms changed places. Sometimes he wondered if Tony did it just to confuse him.

Jarvis helpfully opened the door to the linen closet as Bruce approached, preventing him from taking any further wrong turns. As good as his word (was an AI even capable of a lie?), Jarvis has a plentiful supply of blankets ready, each delightfully warm to the touch.

Bruce took the first one that came to hand and headed back to the lounge, unwilling to be away for a moment longer than necessary. Tony was still in the exact position Bruce had left him in; curled on his side with his knees pulled almost up to his chest, a death-grip on the pillow under his head. As Bruce leaned down to tuck the blanket around him he noticed that Tony was frowning in his sleep and instinctively reached out to stroke his forehead. Tony grunted in his sleep but didn’t wake, and after a couple of moments he relaxed under Bruce’s touch, letting out a long sigh and releasing the pillow slightly. Bruce kept his hand on Tony’s forehead for several minutes until he was convinced that Tony had settled back into a more peaceful sleep, and then retreated to one of the armchairs.

He watched Tony sleep, barely taking his eyes off him, until he woke up in the mid-afternoon. It was winter, and outside the sun was already beginning to set. Tony blinked blearily at Bruce a few times, looking puzzled, before his expression greyed with realisation and he plunged his face back into the pillow, making a pained noise.

‘Hey,’ Bruce wasn’t sure whether to go over to Tony or stay where he was, ‘It’s okay. Don’t worry.’

Tony growled and flopped over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. ‘Christ, Bruce.’ He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, massaging away – who knew what? ‘I’m a mess.’

Bruce shrugged, ‘You’ve seen me worse.’

‘I don’t know if it’s comparable, big guy.’ At least Tony had the twitch of a smile as he spoke. ‘I’m… I’m sorry. That you’re picking up the pieces. You can go if you want, it’s fine, really.’ 

‘I said don’t worry. Anyway, you’ve picked up my pieces plenty of times in the last few months.’ Realising what he’d just said, Bruce flushed pink, ‘Wait… that didn’t come out right.’

At least, it seemed to break Tony out of his cycle of self-pity, momentarily anyway, as he turned to raise an eyebrow at Bruce, ‘You can be certain I’ve never done that. Although…’

Bruce ginned in spite of himself, ‘Stop. When did you last eat?’

‘Maybe… yesterday morning?’

‘I think the lack of food is messing with your brain, and that’s messed up enough at the best of times. I’m making you oatmeal.’

Tony grimaced, ‘Oatmeal? Do I look like a four year old to you?’

Bruce took Tony’s empty water glass to the kitchen, refilled it and came back before he replied, ‘You look like a man who drank half a bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach last night. And in case you were wondering, no, that’s not a good look on anyone. So you’re going to drink this water and then you’re going to eat some nice _plain_ oatmeal because I don’t need you puking everywhere. Again. And then we’re going to get you showered and into a proper bed to sleep the rest of this off. Ok?’ He didn’t give Tony the chance to reply, shoving the glass of water towards him so forcibly that he had the choice to take the glass or get soaked to the skin and headed back to the kitchen.

***

About twenty minutes later Bruce re-entered the lounge with two steaming bowls of oatmeal only to find the room empty. ‘Tony?’ Hastily placing the bowls on the coffee table he half-walked, half-ran to the door and looked down the corridor. ‘Tony!’

‘Eurgh, do you have to be so loud?’ Tony emerged from room further down the hall and shuffled back towards Bruce. At some point he had lost both shoes and socks, and padded barefoot along the carpet.

‘I didn’t know where you were,’ Bruce frowned, struggling not to sound like an annoyed parent. 

Tony rolled his eyes in response then briefly grimaced; the hangover was plainly still too strong to permit such animated facial expressions. ‘Jesus, Bruce, you can’t force a tonne of water down my throat and expect me not to take a leak.’ He pushed past Bruce into the lounge, making a beeline for the couch and his oatmeal.

Bruce felt his face flush in spite of himself, ‘Well, you could have at least told me where you were going.’

Tony had made it to the couch and motioned for Bruce to join him, ‘Again, Bruce, not four years old here.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Bruce put his hands up in mock surrender, ‘Message received.’ He sat next to Tony and reached for his own bowl, ‘If you don’t mind me asking though, what happened to your shoes?’

Tony paused between mouthfuls to glance down at his feet. ‘… Don’t remember.’

They ate in silence for a while, until Tony finished the last of his oatmeal and deposited his bowl on to the coffee table with a clatter. He stretched back onto the cushions, and Bruce pretended not to notice that Tony was watching him while he finished his own meal. Tony had the odd habit of watching others while they were eating, or working, or occasionally sleeping; Bruce had once fallen asleep in his desk chair and woken to find Tony just looking at him from the other side of the room. Tony never made any excuse for it and Bruce had eventually become used to it.

He finished with his own bowl and placed it carefully down on the table, then settled back and turned to meet Tony’s eyes. They were a little bloodshot, he noticed, but more alert than they had been. Another of Tony’s more unnerving quirks was his way of giving the impression that he was pulling you apart with his eyes, analysing you, whilst giving away nothing of what was going on inside his own head. It was something else that Bruce had eventually become accustomed to but right now it made him uncomfortable. For once, he really needed to know what Tony was thinking.

The problem was, beginning a deep and meaningful conversation with Tony Stark, especially one about _feelings_ of all things, was not easy.

‘So, erm, how… well… how are you… y’know?’ It wasn’t the most eloquent Bruce had ever been.

Tony sighed, looking exasperated but not annoyed. ‘Can we not, now?’ he asked, his voice faintly pleading.

‘I just…’ Bruce realised that he was twisting his hands together, ‘I need to know you’re okay.’

‘Well, that’s an easy one, because I’m not, alright?’ Tony snapped, then his face fell, ‘God, Bruce, I’m sorry. Just… can we do this later? Please?’

Bruce had never seen Tony so strung out before and he couldn’t bear to push the other man. ‘Later, then,’ he agreed, and Tony visibly sagged in relief. ‘Shower?’

‘Shower,’ Tony agreed.


	3. Through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Softly, Bruce crouched down and then sat on the carpet next to Tony, leaning back against the side of the bed. The wall of glass stretched from floor to ceiling in front of them. They were so high up, from here all Bruce could see were the tops of other sky scrapers and the glow of light pollution against the clouds. No stars._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of accidentally couldn't resist wrapping them in blankets again. This is becoming a theme.
> 
> This story is now totally non-compliant with AOU ;)

Tony insisted on Bruce waiting while he showered, so while Tony was in the ensuite Bruce sat awkwardly on the bed. Of course he had been in Tony’s bedroom before, but these circumstances were rather different. This whole day had just been a little… unusual.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, surprising him a little as the only person who usually called him was currently showering in the next room. He pulled the device out and saw Pepper’s face flash up on the screen. Bruce checked that the door to the ensuite was definitely shut – he didn’t think it would be helpful for Tony to overhear this conversation – and flicked the ‘answer’ icon. 

‘Hi, Pepper.’

‘Hello Bruce.’ Wherever she was, it was dark. Her face was lit by a soft orange glow which made it hard to tell, but Bruce thought her eyes looked a little red. ‘I’m sorry to call you like this, I just wanted to check up on… well, on Tony. Is he okay?’

Bruce paused for a moment, trying to work out the best way to phrase his words. ‘I think “okay” might be too strong a word, but he’s, y’know, coping.’

‘Coping?’

‘Well,’ Bruce ticked the list off on his fingers, ‘he drank half a bottle of scotch, threw up in the lab, passed out for most of the day and now he’s in the shower.’

Pepper nodded slowly, ‘Yes, that’s pretty much what I expected. I’m glad you’re there, Bruce.’

‘I guess you planned it that way, huh?’

For the first time that Bruce had ever actually witnessed Pepper actually looked a little thrown. ‘Yes. No. I suppose… I suppose it just seemed like the right time. I couldn’t leave him all alone. He needs someone.’ She took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. A tear ran down her cheek. ‘He needs you, Bruce.’

This was getting a little uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure anyone would do…,’ he paused, thinking, ‘… maybe not Steve.’

Pepper just gave him that awful, heart-breaking smile. ‘He needs _you_ , Bruce. Let me know if you need me, okay?’

‘Where even are you Pepper? Are you still in the city?’ Christ this was horrible. Bruce was painfully aware that Pepper had, as ever, planned carefully for Tony’s wellbeing, but he worried that she hadn’t planned her own in the same detail.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied, as though she had read his mind, her voice quiet but steady. ‘This is better, really. I’m staying in a hotel across town for a few days while I sort out an apartment. You don’t need to worry about me Bruce.’

‘I do, though.’

‘I know.’ She gave him one more smile and hung up. Bruce closed his eyes, taking a moment just to be still. There was a lot of emotion flying around him today, especially by his standards.

‘Who was that?’ 

He looked up to see Tony standing in the bathroom doorway, one towel slung round his hips and using another to dry his hair. Steam snaked past him into the bedroom.

‘Oh, no one, just-‘

‘It was Pepper wasn’t it?’ Tony arched an eyebrow at Bruce’s feeble attempt to cover it up. ‘C’mon, this isn’t a teenage romance; you’re allowed to talk to her. You can even say her name, I promise I won’t break anything.’

Bruce flushed, ‘She just wanted to check up on you. That’s all.’

‘And I’m sure you gave a glowing report.’ Tony disappeared into his walk-in wardrobe – it was more of a room, really – leaving both of his towels on the bedroom carpet. Bruce tactfully averted his eyes. ‘Let me guess, she’s halfway around the world by now.’ He reappeared in a tshirt and sweatpants and flopped down on the bed next to Bruce.

‘She’s in a hotel. She’s staying in the city.’

‘Oh. Yeah. I suppose it would be more convenient for work than being in, say, Antigua. Jesus, Bruce, work, what happens about that now? Do we just carry on like nothing happened?’

Wildly out of his depth, Bruce screwed up his face and shrugged in a what-the-hell-do-you-think-I-know-about-relationships-and-business kind of way. ‘Can’t help you there.’

***

When he got to his bedroom Bruce realised just how exhausted he was. He stripped to his tshirt and underwear, gave Jarvis a mumbled instruction to wake him if there was anything wrong with Tony, and fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

Sometime later – it could have been minutes, could have been hours – he became groggily aware of Jarvis’s voice, but his tired brain was too slow to catch the meaning of the words. He sat up, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table. ‘Say that again, Jarvis.’ He stifled a yawn.

‘Dr Banner, Mr Stark appears to be experiencing a nightmare.’

Immediately Bruce was out of bed and on his feet heading for the elevator, a fast walk that gave up any pretence of composure and turned into a jog halfway along the corridor. ‘Is he ok?’ he panted slightly, stepping into the waiting elevator.

‘It appears his heartrate is significantly raised. Visual data suggests hyperventilation.’ 

‘Get me there. Quickly.’ As the elevator began to move Bruce glanced distractedly into the mirrored wall. Ah. Should have probably put on some pants. He briefly hoped Tony wouldn’t mind Bruce turning up in his bedroom in the middle of the night wearing only a tshirt and boxer shorts, then decided that Tony probably had more important things on his mind. Probably.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Bruce padded to Tony’s bedroom door but paused for a second on the threshold. There was absolutely nothing that _wasn’t_ weird about this situation, and really Bruce had no idea what to expect. He took a deep, steadying breath, and gently pushed the door open.

The light from the city dimly illuminated the room. Tony never pulled the blinds. The bedsheets were crumpled, the comforter lying in a heap in the middle of the bed, but Tony wasn’t underneath it. It took a moment for Bruce to pick him out, sitting against the far side of the bed, facing the window. From this angle all Bruce could see was the back of his head.

‘Hey, Tony.’ He spoke quietly, moving deliberately across the room, not wanting to startle him. Tony half-raised one hand in response, acknowledging him but saying nothing. As Bruce approached he saw that Tony was hunched, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. He looked strangely pale in the orange light coming from the city below them.

Softly, Bruce crouched down and then sat on the carpet next to Tony, leaning back against the side of the bed. The wall of glass stretched from floor to ceiling in front of them. They were so high up, from here all Bruce could see were the tops of other sky scrapers and the glow of light pollution against the clouds. No stars.

He shuffled closer to Tony until they were almost touching. It was only then he realised that Tony was shivering, every muscle in his body shaking like a leaf, and tears were coursing down his face. Bruce reached out and gently touched his fingertips to Tony’s arm; his skin was clammy, not a good sign. Without a word he reached behind them and grabbed hold of the comforter. He wrapped it around the both of them, taking extra care to make sure it was tucked around Tony’s shoulders and neck. With shaking hands Tony grasped the edge of the comforter and pulled it tight around himself. He turned to face Bruce, and his eyes were so full of fear that it all but took Bruce’s breath away. Bruce knew that feeling all too well. ‘Was it bad?’

Tony nodded, ‘Uh huh.’

Bruce shifted, making himself a little more comfortable, and stared out the window. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it? I never know which is worse, the dreaming part or the waking up part. Last week I dreamed that the other guy killed someone, a little girl. Just this little kid with pigtails. And when I was back, when I was me again, I opened my eyes and she was just lying there beside me. I tried to save her, but there wasn’t anything I could do. It was too late. All I could hear was screaming.’ His voice caught in his throat at the memory and he stopped to take a deep breath, composing himself. ‘When I finally woke up, I was too scared to roll over in case she was still there. I lay there for an hour, waiting to be less afraid. That was a pretty bad one.’

He looked back at Tony. The fear was still in his face, but there was something else there too. A little spark of something that Bruce couldn’t quite identify.

‘I didn’t know.’ Tony’s voice was hoarse but it was good to hear him speak.

Bruce shrugged, ‘There’s not many people that would understand.’

Tony’s shoulders relaxed a bit. He allowed his head to flop backwards onto the mattress behind them and closed his eyes. Bruce could see his adam’s apple bob against the taught skin of his throat as he swallowed. ‘Pepper couldn’t understand. She tried, but she couldn’t. It feels like I’m being torn apart inside, like something’s ripping right through the middle of me.’ He sighed, ‘And I really know what that feels like.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Bruce squeezed Tony’s knee under the comforter, ‘I know.’ For a moment he just watched Tony; watched his chest rise and fall as his friend tried to control his breathing. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ The number of times he had lain sweating and terrified in the night longing to hear those words from someone didn’t bear thinking about.

Slowly, Tony raised his head and opened his eyes. He regarded Bruce for a moment, and Bruce could still see that strange spark behind his eyes.

‘I… I need… I want…’ Tony faltered, the frustration at the lack of words clear in his expression.

‘Anything,’ Bruce repeated, quiet but firm. 

Tony reached out to touch Bruce’s face, holding him gently, and before Bruce had time to think Tony had leaned in and kissed him. Tony’s mouth barely grazed his, but his lips were soft and burned warm like a shot of bourbon in an empty stomach. The kiss lasted only for a second, but it lingered between them as Tony pulled away.

‘Was that alright?’ Tony’s face was anxious, terrified, but above all… hungry. Bruce realised with a jolt that the spark which had been creeping into Tony’s eyes was just that: _hunger_. More surprising still, he felt an answering ache twist up inside him from somewhere deep within.

‘It was…’ Bruce groped desperately for the words, realising even as he spoke that he had no end for that sentence. He shook his head slightly, disorientated by Tony’s proximity and the persisting ghost of the kiss. ‘What are we doing, Tony?’

‘I want to feel better.’ Bruce could have sworn he saw the last few bricks of the wall that Tony had put up between himself and the outside world fall away. For the first time he was really _seeing_ Tony Stark – not the engineer, not the brilliant mind, not the media gossip magnet – just Tony. And he was… beautiful. ‘This feels better. You make me feel better.’ He tentatively touched Bruce’s hand, ‘But only if it’s alright. Only if you want to.’

In answer, Bruce cautiously moved to kiss Tony, but Tony held him back. ‘No. You have to say it. You have to say you want to.’

Bruce smiled. ‘I, Robert Bruce Banner, want to kiss you, Anthony Stark.’

Tony wrinkled his nose, ‘Don’t do that, it’s weird.’ He didn’t give Bruce the chance to respond, pressing his lips to Bruce’s and kissing him with an intensity that made Bruce’s head swim.

They remained curled on the floor together, lost in each other’s lips and tongues, until the sky began to grow pink. ‘C’mon,’ sighed Bruce, pulling away, ‘Bed. We both need some sleep.’

‘Don’t go,’ Tony replied automatically, a bolt of the fear that Bruce had so effectively kissed out of him flashing back across his face. ‘Don’t go.’

‘Not going anywhere,’ Bruce murmured. He pulled Tony up and into the bed, setting the comforter back to its proper use as he did so. Tony lay on his side and Bruce curled into his back, one arm acting as Tony’s pillow and the other hooked protectively over his chest, hand resting gently on the arc reactor. The warmth of Tony, the softness of his skin, the feeling of sheer _safety_ lulled Bruce within minutes. He breathed in deeply, relaxing into the comforting scent of Tony’s skin and enjoying feeling the fog of sleep stealing across his mind. 

If he hadn’t been so close to Tony, so close his lips touched the nape of Tony’s neck, he might not have even heard the whispered words: ‘Thank you.’

A moment later Bruce was asleep.


	4. Red Flags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘So,’ Tony said evenly, setting his fork down carefully on his plate, ‘Are you going to tell me what the issue is?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm... this got a bit long.

Bruce woke up alone. It took him a few moments to figure out firstly _where_ he was, and secondly _why_ he was there. God only knew where Tony had gone. Probably decided to get out of the way, save them from the awkward morning-after conversation - not that anything had really happened, Bruce reminded himself sternly. They could just write-off a night of making out, surely. Of course they could. He’d been worried and lonely and Tony had been sad, they’d just found a bit of comfort in each other for a few hours, that was all. A rebound for Tony and for him… a bit of human contact.

It didn’t need to mean anything more than that.

Trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach – obviously just from a lack of sleep, nothing more – Bruce looked around for his clothes, realising with a sigh that they were, of course, exactly where he had left them. Several floors down, folded neatly on a chair in his room. 

Walk of shame it was, then.

Bruce skulked out of the bedroom and into the lounge. He pressed the button for the elevator – somehow he felt too embarrassed to ask Jarvis to call it – and waited, feeling utterly absurd standing in Tony’s apartment wearing only his underwear. The elevator pinged and the doors opened, but just as Bruce began to step inside he heard his name called from behind him.

‘Bruce! Get back in here, I made breakfast.’

He wheeled around to see Tony standing there with a plate of eggs in each hand, wearing a scruffy grey bathrobe over his sleep clothes. For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, Bruce felt his face flush hot. The elevator doors slid quietly closed again behind him.

Bruce followed Tony silently into the kitchen. He’d laid the table, even pouring Bruce a glass of juice. Tony didn’t seem to notice his discomfort as they sat down to eat, rattling on about the circuitry for some new idea he’d woken up with. Bruce could barely keep up, his mind clouded by problems far more complex than the calculations that Tony was verbally working through. The problems were many and varied, each one barely forming before it was eclipsed by the next, but they all boiled down to one point: _what the fuck am I doing?_

‘So,’ Tony said evenly, setting his fork down carefully on his plate, ‘Are you going to tell me what the issue is?’

Bruce tried to disguise his uneasiness by taking a sip of orange juice. ‘Don’t know what you mean.’

Tony folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow slightly raised. ‘I started making basic math errors about three-and-a-half minutes ago and _you_ agreed with me. You’re off away somewhere in Bruce-land, and judging by that frown Bruce-land isn’t filled with dancing ponies. So tell me what the problem is.’

Bruce sighed and pushed away his barely-touched plate, giving up the attempt to hide behind his juice glass. If they were going to have The Talk, better get it over with. ‘I don’t know what we’re doing here, Tony.’

Tony’s eyebrow remained sardonically raised. ‘We’re having breakfast. I’m starting to think I’ve overestimated your intelligence, Dr Banner.’

A flicker of anger darted through Bruce but he suppressed it. _Not the time._ ‘I’m serious Tony. This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have done this.’

‘Done what?’ There was definitely an acerbic edge to Tony’s voice. He got up, pushing his chair back sharply, and began to noisily clear the dishes. ‘I can’t see how anything was a mistake, and we both sure know about those.’ He threw the cutlery into the sink with a clatter and leaned against the counter, breathing heavily. ‘Tell me what exactly this mistake was, then.’

Bruce felt completely trapped. The very, very last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt Tony, all he wanted was to help, and now he’d fucked it all up by just following his own stupid, selfish urges. He wanted to cry. 

‘It was just wrong, Tony. It was taking advantage.’

Anger was really the least he could expect from Tony he supposed, after everything, and he expected to see it blazing even brighter in Tony’s face, stinging and burning and truly deserved. Bruce wasn’t a coward, but it took all his strength to look Tony in the face, ready to be cut down. But all the anger drained out of Tony’s eyes. He gaped at Bruce, looking like he’d just been punched in the stomach. ‘But I thought… I asked you… Oh god, Bruce, I’m sorry-’ 

Bruce’s stomach twisted into sick knots as he realised Tony’s meaning. ‘No,’ he interjected. How had he fucked this up so much? Every word just made it worse. ‘No, Tony, not like that. I did, I wanted to, oh _god_ I wanted to so much, but…’ he dropped his head into his hands, not wanting to see Tony’s face, not wanting to see the damage he must be causing. His eyes burned, overflowing into teardrops that splashed embarrassingly onto the glass table top. ‘ _I_ shouldn’t have, Tony. I… I took advantage of you.’ His voice cracked as horror at himself rolled over him. He slumped onto the table and covered his head with his arms, a childish gesture of defence which did nothing to protect him from the monsters already inside his head.

Then strong hands were pulling him upright and his own arms were replaced by Tony’s as he was wrapped in a hug so tight he could barely breathe. Tony’s weight slid into his lap as he pulled Bruce’s face into his chest.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Tony was mumbling into his hair, pressing kisses to his scalp, ‘Don’t you dare say that. You goddamn saved me Bruce.’

‘It’s true though,’ Bruce argued, managing to pull away from Tony enough to look him in the eye. ‘You’re just hurting, Tony. Pepper left you and you’re angry and lonely and you think you want this but any other day, any other time it wouldn’t even cross your mind. And I _know_ that, and that means it’s not okay for me to let you do this. You made me say I had to want it and that’s easy, but the thing is you have to want it too. _Really_ want it, Tony, not just think you do.’

Tony tilted his head to one side, ‘What makes you think I didn’t want you before last night?’

All Bruce could do was gape at him in bewilderment. The answer was surely so obvious. ‘Because why would you?’

Tony cupped Bruce’s face with his hands, lightly brushing his thumbs over the lines at the corners of Bruce’s eyes. ‘Try, because you’re brilliant.’ He pulled Bruce forward and kissed him gently on the forehead, then slipped off his lap and into the chair beside him. Bruce immediately missed his warmth and his weight but at the same time a wisp of relief, thin and intangible as smoke, drifted through him. He just couldn’t think straight when Tony was that close.

Tony was leaning his elbows on the table, looking steadily at Bruce. His eyes were tired and sad. It was so quiet that Bruce could hear the hum of the fridge and even Tony’s slow breathing; he realised that he still hadn’t said anything but he couldn’t think of a damn thing to break the silence. He simply couldn’t make promises that he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep, but equally he couldn’t bring himself to put into words what needed to be said.

Then, after a minute or two of deeply uncomfortable silence, Tony said it for him.

‘This won’t work, will it?’

There was no blame in his voice, only tiredness. Bruce desperately wanted to take his hand, tell him it would be ok, whisper that he was wanted and loved, make him smile. It wouldn’t help though, not really.

‘I think we need to give it time, Tony.’ He worked hard to keep his voice steady. Tony nodded slowly. ‘It’s too soon and…’ he paused, trying to find the right words, ‘… we don’t have the luxury of getting it wrong. I’m sorry.’ Tony flinched at the apology and Bruce wondered if Pepper had said the same words. Every fibre of his being was telling him to go, right now, grab his things and leave before his resolve broke but that look on Tony’s face glued him to the spot. He could see Tony’s barriers going back up right in front of him and he couldn’t, _couldn’t_ bear that, not now he’d seen what was on the other side.

He reached out and rested the fingertips of his right hand on Tony’s wrist where it emerged from the cuff of his robe. It was right up there with the scariest things he’d ever done. For years he’d kept safe by refusing to ever get close to anyone and now the part of his brain that told him when it was time to run was shouting, _screaming_ at him to run faster and further than he ever had before. But, Bruce figured, sometimes it was more important to listen to your heart than your head.

‘I mean,’ he said softly, ‘I don’t want to screw this up Tony. If it’s real. I need to do it right.’ He took a deep breath. Here went everything. ‘It’s too important. You’re too important to me.’ 

There it was, the last of his own invisible armour stripped away and god it was _torture_. Once, a hell of a long time ago now, he hadn’t been too bad at intimacy although he’d never exactly been the type to lay his soul bare; now each disclosure was like jabbing a sharpened pencil into a raw nerve and trying to ignore the visceral reaction to run, hide. He breathed deeply, feeling the other guy stirring restlessly at the back of his brain the way he always did when Bruce got anxious or afraid, even if there was no imminent danger. It wasn’t cause for alarm but it definitely never helped a tough situation. His knee jumped erratically, the muscles in his leg twitching with repressed nervous energy, and Bruce realised that his knuckles on the hand resting in his lap were white. And Tony was just… just looking at him.

Then: ‘Okay.’

There were a lot of words that Bruce had been expecting to hear come out of Tony’s mouth – most of them were short, sharp, and would have to be censored on daytime TV – but ‘okay’ hadn’t been one of them.

‘Uh… okay?’ he questioned. Perhaps Tony’s brain had finally short-circuited. Perhaps his own had.

‘Okay,’ Tony repeated, ‘Okay, I’ll wait. Until you’re ready or until I’m ready or until we just both get really drunk and stupid or whatever.’ He scrubbed one hand through his hair distractedly, ‘I don’t take advice and I sure as hell don’t take orders, but right now I’m willing to make an exception. One-time-only deal. And only because I already screwed things up with one person I love this week and now I don’t know which way is up and everything feels broken except for you and…’ He broke off with a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and screwing up his face like he had a migraine. ‘I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. So yeah. Okay.’

All Bruce could do was smile; a sad, tired, relieved, grateful smile. ‘Thank you, Tony.’

***

Bruce left the tower later that day, having arranged for Natasha and Clint to step in and keep an eye on Tony. Luckily it worked out well; they’d both been due back soon anyway but the mission they’d been working on had unexpectedly wrapped up early. Even Steve had said he would stop by for a week or two. Bruce figured it would probably do Tony some good to have someone there to tease mercilessly who was too much of a gentleman to respond with brute force.

Bruce leaving was a mutual agreement, but on the condition that he checked in at least once a week – partly to let everyone know he was still alive, partly in case some kind of apocalypse arose that could really use some smashing. He was torn about going; on one hand he was nagged by guilt over leaving Tony in such a vulnerable state, but on the other hand staying in the tower right now might actually have caused him to finally lose his mind.

Tony was in the habit of depositing large sums of money into his bank account, the one that Tony had actually set up for him, on a regular basis as “payment for your contribution to Stark Industries,” whatever that meant – Bruce only kept a very small amount to live off, the rest he gave to a variety of charitable organisations under a pseudonym – so travel and accommodation wasn’t a problem. Still, Bruce was thrifty and scrimped wherever he could, but it was nice not to be tied down. He could pick up and leave from wherever he was at a moment’s notice. It was a comforting thought, if rather a lonely one.

In total, Bruce was gone for about nine weeks, more or less – he found it hard to keep track across time zones. He spent the first couple of weeks with Doctor Cho in her Seoul lab and research centre, enveloped in the latest advances in biomedial technology, but even that wasn’t enough to keep his feet from itching and his mind from wandering after a while. So it went; he travelled from place to place, found ways to make himself useful, ate from cafes or street vendors, slept wherever there was somewhere to rest his head, but eventually he would wake at 5am with the certainty that it was time to move on. So he would catch a ride to the nearest airport or train station and buy a ticket for whatever was leaving next, and the pattern continued. He kept his promise and called Tony once a week. Tony always had a smile for him, was eager to tell him about his latest work, but it was hard for Bruce to tell if it was genuine or just a brave face. 

Then one morning he woke early and his gut didn’t tell him _leave_ , it told him _go home_. For the first time in weeks he actually packed carefully and made specific travel plans. It felt strangely good, having a plan after spending months living one moment at a time, and Bruce realised that he was actually kind of looking forward to being back in a place where people knew who he was. Not many people, but still people, plural. He didn’t call any of them, though. Having a plan that only you knew was one thing, but things get messy when you start giving other people reasons to have expectations of you. Bruce liked to keep his options open until the very last moment. Just in case.

***

He was still an hour away from New York when Bruce first consciously noticed the anxiety beginning to flicker in his stomach, and by the time he landed in JFK it was dancing along every nerve in his body such that he could barely keep still, his hands compulsively twisting in his lap and his feet tap dancing of their own accord on the airplane floor. It occurred to him later what a miracle it was that he made it off the plane and through security without being arrested for looking deeply suspicious.

Bruce barely saw any of the cab ride to Manhattan. He spent the journey with his eyes closed, focussing on his breathing techniques until they emerged from the tunnel into Midtown. He opened his eyes, blinking in the sunlight streaming through the cab windows, and caught his first glimpse of Avengers Tower in over two months. The closest place he had to a home. Immediately the last half-hour of yogic breathing exercises were undone as an overwhelming cocktail of emotions flooded his brain. Too much, too much. Trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, he informed the driver that he’d changed his mind and to drop him where they were. Fare paid, he made a valiant effort to saunter down the street for half a block before diving into the nearest coffee shop and dialling Natasha.

***

Fifteen minutes later, and Natasha was looking at him with a calculatedly neutral expression as she stirred her latte, and he sipped his black tea and avoided her eyes. 

‘We missed you,’ she said, breaking the silence. It was a statement, not an admonishment; her voice was emotionless. ‘Few situations we could have used Big Green.’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he still couldn’t quite meet her eyes, ever aware of just exactly how much Natasha saw. Hell, it was one of the reasons he’d called her. ‘I just had some stuff to figure out.’

‘And did you?’

‘I… I’m not sure.’ Bruce feigned a keen interest in the napkin dispenser, wiping up an imaginary spillage with vigour. Getting information on Tony before they had to meet had seemed such a good idea a quarter of an hour ago but was proving much harder in practise. ‘How is everyone?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Tony’s doing fine,’ Natasha replied without missing a beat. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not sleeping with anyone.’

Bruce dropped his teaspoon, ‘Wha-? I mean,’ he corrected, hastily pulling himself together, ‘that’s not really my business.’

Natasha rolled her eyes, ‘Please, you’re not still pretending that you aren’t desperately in love, are you? Because that’s getting old.’ Bruce knew better than to ask how she knew, but clearly his expression didn’t. ‘You’re as obvious as a teenager with a crush,’ she said by way of explantation, ‘Plus, Tony talks in his sleep when he’s been drinking.’

Bruce cringed, wondering exactly what a drunk Tony might have revealed, ‘I don’t know if I want to think about that.’

She smirked, ‘Shame. Some of it was quite juicy.’

Trying to swallow his embarrassment, Bruce picked his spoon back up and focussed on stirring his rapidly cooling tea. ‘Maybe there are… feeling,.’ he admitted, feeling his cheeks light up but pressing on. ‘And Tony… still…?’

‘Yep. Shame, if you ask me.’ Bruce’s brow furrowed in sudden concern and she grinned, ‘You were the only eligible bachelor I knew. But I’ll cope.’

Bruce flushed again, more than a little befuddled by the unexpected attention. ‘There’s always Steve?’ he offered.

She wrinkled her nose, ‘Captain America and an ex-Russian spy? I’m not convinced. But don’t worry about it. I think you and Tony will be a cute couple.’

Bruce set his teacup down. ‘I should go see him, shouldn’t I?’

Natasha smiled, ‘I think that would be a good idea.’

***

Bruce found Tony in his private lab. Tony had long ago given him unrestricted access, but he still knocked on the glass door and waited until Tony, bent over a work bench with his back to him, motioned him in.

‘For the last time, Clint, the homing arrow upgrade will be ready when it’s ready, and if you ask me again I’m going to make you the primary target.’

‘Ahem,’ Bruce cleared his throat. Tony wheeled around and froze when he saw Bruce, not Clint, standing staring awkwardly at him. Several different emotions flashed across his face before he settled on a grin and, striding over, wrapped Bruce in a hug.

Taken by surprise, Bruce only managed to return a couple of pats on Tony’s back and Tony pulled away, flushing slightly. His grin had faded, and he didn’t meet Bruce’s eyes.

‘You’re back then?’ he asked, and Bruce nodded in reply. ‘Good. Could use someone else with some brains around here.’ 

He turned back to the device he’d been fiddling with, waving Bruce over. Bruce grimaced a little at how business-like Tony’s voice was, but picked up the plans. ‘What is this?’

It was Tony’s cue to launch into a stream of safe and comforting techno-babble as he explained a problem with the aerodynamics in Clint’s new arrows and Bruce gratefully threw himself into it. Tony definitely didn’t need his help with this problem, probably already knew how he was going to fix it, but talking shop was a lot easier than talking about anything else. 

An hour later and the arrows were capable of performing a range of aerial tricks without losing velocity, and Tony and Bruce had run out of problems to solve. Tony packed up his tools methodically while Bruce leaned uneasily against the work bench. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

‘Sorry,’ Tony said, putting the last screwdriver away and coming to stand near but not too near to Bruce, arms folded protectively across his chest, ‘You only just got in. You probably need to unpack.’

Tony’s voice was carefully level, and Bruce couldn’t decide if it was a silence-filler or a veiled request for him to leave. He tried desperately to recall everything he wanted to say, everything he’d planned over the last weeks, but he was never the most eloquent of speakers and now words failed him entirely. Tony was keeping his face blank and Bruce hated being shut out and hated even more that he couldn’t find the words to make it right, to show Tony how he felt, to reset their equilibrium. So he did the only thing he could think of. He took two steps forwards, put his hands on Tony’s shoulders, and kissed him.

The kiss was rough and unrefined, and for a moment Tony didn’t respond. Bruce panicked that he’d got it wrong, that Tony had decided he really didn’t want him after all and tried to pull away, but the next moment Tony’s hands were cradling the back of his head and Tony’s tongue was in his mouth and everything else turned to white noise.

A few minutes later they surfaced for air and Bruce felt a stupid grin spread across his face as he saw the twinkle in Tony’s eyes reignite. ‘I’m sorry…’ he started, _sorry for taking so long, sorry for making you wait, sorry I didn’t do that the moment I walked in,_ but Tony effectively cut him off with a hand over his mouth and a raised eyebrow.

‘If you ever try to apologise again I’m going to kick you in the knee, alright?’ Bruce hummed assent and Tony released his mouth but kept his arms wrapped around him.

‘Worth the wait?’ Bruce asked, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile.

‘Definitely,’ Tony smirked, ‘But I think we need to make up for lost time.’

‘Agreed.’

Tony grinned. ‘Jarvis, put the lab into privacy mode please.’

‘Certainly sir.’

Bruce saw the shutters begin to descend over the glass walls, but then Tony was kissing him again and everything around them became irrelevant.

Upstairs, the team booed loudly as the security camera feed, which Natasha had hacked into, cut out and left them staring at a blank computer screen.


End file.
